


It isn't silly if it means something

by Anonymous



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is overwhelmed and even though he believes Coulson is dead, he can't stop calling. Coulson holds back and tries to carry on as he listens to Clint's voicemails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a Treat/Fill for two prompts at the AvengerKink Meme.
> 
> (http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/18271.html?thread=43131999#t43131999) (filled by another anon as well)  
> Following the events of New York, Clint is having trouble dealing with the aftermath - Coulson's death especially. One day he calls Coulson, forgetting that he's dead, and gets Coulson's voicemail. It turns out that SHIELD hasn't gotten around to disconnecting Coulson's phone number just yet. Clint starts calling "Coulson" as often as he can, about every little detail about what's going on with his life, so he can have a few minutes where he can pretend that Coulson's not dead. (What Clint doesn't know is that Coulson's very much alive - and listens to all his messages)
> 
> And (http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/18271.html?thread=43150431#t43150431) which is based on the above prompt:  
> Despite thinking that Coulson died, Clint still calls his phone to hear his voice and leave messages. Coulson listens to all of them, and despite getting frequent updates on how Clint is adjusting and improving, the messages reveal how badly Clint is really coping with the guilt/self-blame/aftermath of Loki. Maybe Coulson tries to manipulate other people into seeing how bad its getting for Clint but to no avail. When Clint leaves a message talking about taking his own life, Coulson knows he has to come back.  
> Happy with GEN or Clint/Coulson, but only if they were not together before Phil's 'death'.

I am one of those silly people who fall into the exact same trap I warn my Agents and Future-Handlers-To-Be to avoid: develop and build an unbreakable emotional bond. Or, as a civilian would put it: love your charges.

I am also one of those silly people who enthusiastically promote intra-agency dating. Bit of common sense that one, really. We trust all our Agents to have complete and unfaltering loyalty to SHIELD. This is different to other agencies who aim to have their Agents be loyal to some distant entity like the _Government _or the _Queen_ __ or some religious idea. Our tactic is different; we save those suffering and right their flipped-turned-upside-down life into something worth fighting for (as opposed to living for). We give our Agents something they interact with every day to be loyal to. But of course, there's the crazy idea that love conquers all and while I publicly deny such a ridiculous notion, it is always niggling at the back of my head. All the better should an Agent develops feeling of love, better if their love is another SHIELD Agent than a spy for another. Surely, that diminishes the chance of betrayal even further, yes?

I am also one of those silly people who supported the idea of dating within your security clearance level - plus or minus one.

I am also one of those silly people who went off and died.

And then came back to life.

I wake drowning in a sea of wires hooking me to machines. Drowsy, disorientated, and confused due to the multitude of drugs coursing through my veins, I could still think. You don't get to Level 7 without some skill, give me some credit. I know there's been a security breach and I know the protocol that's supposed to follow. Judging from the doctors and nurses attending to me, I conclude I've either lost my security clearance or I've been wiped off the face of the earth. Okay, perhaps I was a tad high on drugs and this could have been a slight (so very slight) exaggeration. It's more likely I was assigned a different level of clearance: Level Off-The-Grid-Waiting-To-Be-Reinstated-To-Level-7-My-Righteous-Level.

In those first few days during which I was strung out high, I revisited the concept of love and revised my beliefs regarding it. Indeed what they say about love being blind, irrational and able to conquer all might perhaps be true to my addled brain. I have been told multiple times that during my incapacitation, I kept muttering, reaching out and begging for Clint.

No agency likes a security breach - especially not SHIELD. So once they start to wean me off the cocktail of medication allowing me to think clearly, I worry. I worry because I'm still confined to a bed in a white room and hooked up to various machines that beep every so often. Every time I try to leave, alarms go off and I get a slight electric shock. No doubt it was to ensure my obedience, but no one gets to Level 7 without some determination either. I fight and I snarl and I shout and I claw - all in the name of love - because while I'm stuck in here enjoying a lie down, the Agent I'm concerned for is quite possibly enduring torture at the hands of SHIELD. Despite my impressive endurance and determination, I am violently manhandled, dominated and strapped to the bed, and then scolded by a hot nurse (" _Agent Coulson_ ," and that's when I know I'm still employed by SHIELD, " _you will lie still until your woulds heal up to 73% or you will rip your stitches. Or I will rip them for you! You're welcome to try my patience_." and this is when I find out SHIELD's medical staff are quite capable of being field agents should they wish to be). If I weren't so blinded with worry for Agent Barton, I would have found amusement. Or I would have strongly suspected Tony Stark's hand in picking my caregivers - he does have a tendency after all, to hire people based on their measurements.

So I lie there, battered and sulky, willing myself to heal faster (mind over matter) and I eventually fall asleep. My slumber is very rudely interrupted by someone cutting off my air supply. I wake to darkness with a hand clamped over my mouth and another across my shoulders pinning me to the bed. A low and harsh voice speaks into my ear, "I could be killed for this, Agent," he tightens his grip and I struggle fruitlessly against him for air. "Be still," he threatens, "Hawkeye has been cleared of all charges and is recuperating in Stark Tower." I go limp, this unknown assailant is clearly loyal to me over SHIELD. My mind screams security breach (because I'm loyal to two entities: SHIELD and Clint) but my heart commands me to stay still and be relieved.

I work hard at recuperating. It's tiresome commanding tissue to regenerate and restitch itself, but I buckle down and make a beeline towards becoming the epitome of good health. The sooner I get there, the sooner I get reinstated to Level 7 - which means the sooner I get to communicate with my Clint. Any vestiges of hope I held dissipate into the quiet night when I'm once again rudely awakened by the masked intruder, "Hawkeye has been downgraded to a Level 4. Unfortunate news is that it appears he has absolutely no interest in regaining his previous status."

Barton, you fucking idiot.

No matter now, when I get my clearance back, I'm much too high to even be friends with Clint. The next time I open my eyes, I'm in Tahiti, and I am informed of my new clearance level: Level-You-Must-Not-Speak-Of-To-Any-Lower-Than-Thou. Not only are my cases classified, I am classified.

Tahiti _is_ magical, almost magical enough to make me forget entirely about my prayers for Clint to return to his previous status. At least then, the gap would be closer and an argument could be made for Agent I-don't-break-the-rules-I-bend-them Coulson.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a Treat/Fill for two prompts at the AvengerKink Meme.
> 
> (http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/18271.html?thread=43131999#t43131999) (filled by another anon as well)  
> Following the events of New York, Clint is having trouble dealing with the aftermath - Coulson's death especially. One day he calls Coulson, forgetting that he's dead, and gets Coulson's voicemail. It turns out that SHIELD hasn't gotten around to disconnecting Coulson's phone number just yet. Clint starts calling "Coulson" as often as he can, about every little detail about what's going on with his life, so he can have a few minutes where he can pretend that Coulson's not dead. (What Clint doesn't know is that Coulson's very much alive - and listens to all his messages)
> 
> And (http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/18271.html?thread=43150431#t43150431) which is based on the above prompt:  
> Despite thinking that Coulson died, Clint still calls his phone to hear his voice and leave messages. Coulson listens to all of them, and despite getting frequent updates on how Clint is adjusting and improving, the messages reveal how badly Clint is really coping with the guilt/self-blame/aftermath of Loki. Maybe Coulson tries to manipulate other people into seeing how bad its getting for Clint but to no avail. When Clint leaves a message talking about taking his own life, Coulson knows he has to come back.  
> Happy with GEN or Clint/Coulson, but only if they were not together before Phil's 'death'.

It is a Monday, like any other Monday for the average civilian, when I finally step foot into SHIELD headquarters. I know the second I touch the up button to my elevator, my fingerprint is scanned and my credentials are checked and cross referenced before the doors open and give me access. Once I'm in, the doors close. I know my eyes are being scanned for double confirmation and the one difference I pick up is the tone of the beep once I've been cleared. It's different and throws me slightly off centre because I wasn't expecting it. The doors open to a stark corridor. The walls are bare, shiny silver, void of dust or fingerprints. Creepy. When I step out of the elevator, it becomes clear to me that it's not a corridor, but a rectangular room. I turn around for the elevator again as I'm sure it's taken me to the wrong level, but I'm surprised with a plain wall where the doors should be.

Oh. Well, this being SHIELD, it is probably a test. I guess I'm supposed to find my way out of this room before I get access to my office. Or this could be an interrogation. I spin back so that I'm facing the same wall I faced when I first stepped out. For a few seconds, I stare at the wall and wonder if I'm supposed to wait or if my new security clearance comes with a super ability to walk through solid walls. It sinks in right then; of course my security clearance is the answer! I walk briskly to the wall and lay my hand against it. Within seconds, it slides open and I step foot into a wide room of organised chaos. It is warm and filled with rows and aisles of cubicles with agents buzzing in and out, balancing coffee and documents related to national security and under all that human chatter and machine whirl, there's a continuous hum of a super computer. I look straight ahead to the far end of the room. The wall that indicates the end of this hall is entirely transparent glass. I see a corridor beyond the glass wall and my very good eye sight catches my name engraved on a glass door on the other side of that corridor. My office.

A junior agent stops a few feet away. He's carrying a stack of confidential files which are stacked taller than he is wide. Impressively, he balances them on one arm and with his other retrieves a small pile and hands it over to me. "Good morning, Agent Coulson," he gives a nod and a quick salute before hurrying off.

I start walking towards the other end of the hall and I am greeted by everyone I pass, many of whom I am sure I have never had the pleasure of meeting. When I am halfway across, a slim girl falls into step beside me. She is holding what I think is the newest STARKtab and a cup of something. "Good morning, Agent. I trust you are well." She has a British accent, but I am distracted by the endless greetings I get as I walk past each Agent. "You have a slow day ahead of you today. You are to look through the ten files in your hand. They are classified cases that have been closed-"

"Why do I need to-"

She cuts me off, "let me finish. We are suspicious that the cases were wrongfully closed and would like a fresh pair of eyes to look through them."

"Then I can start contacting my team?" I ask as I start to open the first file. Her hand grabs my wrist and I glance at her. We have come to a stop in front of the glass wall and she had at one point placed the STARKtab flat on her palm and the cup on top of it. Tony Stark's genius reduced to a tray.

" _Classified_ , as I recall saying." She lets go and picks up the cup.

Another Agent rushes up and greets me, "Good to have you back, Agent Coulson!" and then deposits a clear bag containing the phone I had been using before Tahiti. "All bug free and ready to use. Or be thrown away." He salutes me and dismisses himself.

"Right, off you go then, into your office before you open those files and compromise global security." She tilts her head slightly at the wall and I get the hint. I put my hand flat against the glass and the wall in front of me dissolves away into a doorway. I step through.

"Lunch is at noon, I will deliver your meal to you if you meet me right here."

"What, being classified means I cannot pick what I eat?"

"Your preferences are known to SHIELD. Everything you have chosen for the past decade has been catalogued." She hands over the STARKtab and cup.

"Uh..."

"My security clearance does not permit entrance past this room." She explains and as soon as she steps back, the glass wall materialises again.

I do not take her to be a junior agent or any sort of agent. She looked much too young to be a specialist. I decide she's some sort of personal assistant or secretary before entering my office.

My new office is bare of anything except for a large table and an executive chair. I sigh disappointedly as I dump my pile on the desk and slump into the chair. A decade of my preferred foods is catalogued but not one of my preferred furniture.

I pick up the first folder and open it. My attention is caught instantly. It was one of my first cases as a junior agent. When I was working it, I knew this file back to front, up and down, inside out. There was no way it was wrongly closed. I flip open the next file. Again, one of my older case files and once again, impossible for it to be corrupt. I finger through the rest and note that they were all my cases from various times and all of them had no reason to be questioned. Many of them were clear open and shut cases. No one, not even a civilian could get it wrong if they worked the cases.

Regardless, I buckle down and return my attention to the first case. I am determined to read every word on every page because if it was corrupt, it was my fault.

When I am done, I sit back and take a breath. The likelihood of mistakes were close to impossible. This was a waste of time. I should be out in the field, with my team. SHIELD should be taking advantage of my wellbeing, my resources and my abilities I should not be stuck in a pretentious office, separated from all forms of agent contact. At the very least, I should be allowed to contact my team.

My eyes drift towards my old phone which is still sitting in the clear bag. I take it out and switch it on. Like the agent said, it's ready to go... and there's two voicemails waiting for me.

Before I can listen to them, Fury sweeps into my office.

"Agent Coulson," he greets me in his deep voice. "Good to have you back."

I jump at the chance, "Fury, I should be in the field. Why can't I contact the team? You know I'm ready! But instead, I'm stuck here in some gawking cage with no one to gawk at me and you've got some pretty young PA handing me perfect cases telling me that I need to go through them? That's bullshit, Fury!"

He raises a hand to silence me, "you aren't ready."

I gape. It's embarrassing really. SHIELD Agents do not gape. They do not fall into stunned silence. There is always Plan B. So I guess I'm not ready. But I protest, because I was _born_ ready.

"With all due respect, Fury-" but I get cut off.

"You hesitated after the elevator. Your walk across the pit," Fury gestured towards the room beyond the glass, "was disappointing. You were distracted by every greeting. There was not one person you recognised. That and you are meticulously going through your own cases. You don't trust your own judgement. You are not ready."

"Are you serious? Come on! It's my first day, so I need like a minute to adjust to my new surroundings." Clearly, I'm not ready. I shouldn't need more than five seconds to adjust to any environment.

"You deduced the pretty young thing wrongly," Fury says suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"The British girl who handed you the drink and the STARKtab. She's not quite a field Agent like you, but she's certainly no PA. She's a genius, an expert in her field, and definitely has the potential to become a legendary Agent."

I raise an eyebrow. So far, Fury has only acknowledged two legendary Agents – Black Widow and Hawkeye. One has a penchant for pushing boundaries and stretching rules due to ambiguity and the other... well, a convert and technically a traitor. America's gain, so thank fuck for that.

So I take his bluff, "I'll believe it when I see it."

"She graduated three years early, Coulson. Do you know what her specialisation is? Biochemistry! And she managed to fool you, a seasoned Agent, a veteran."

We eye at each other for a long while before I give in. I've got twice the number of eyes than he does but ultimately, he will stare anyone down.

"What's my mission?" I ask in defeat.

"You are to make a new team. That is all."

"Excuse me? What about the Avengers? They need a handler!"

"They are being handled."

"And what about Barton?! Let me contact him!"

Fury's expression changes and I freeze. "Coulson, you do not seem to understand. Not only are your cases classified, you-"

"I am classified."

"That's correct," Fury says softly. Even his eye looks soft. It creeps me the fuck out. "We need the whole team together. They need to be strong and they need to trust each other. We cannot tell some of them secrets and leave the others out. It will only cause friction and distrust."

It finally sinks in and I whisper, "Clint... he's Level Four now."

"That's right," Fury says. "He doesn't even know you're alive."

A moment passes and I gather my wits. I can deal with this. I just need to wait it out. An Agent as _legendary_ as Clint Barton will be back up to Level Seven in no time. In the meantime... "I want her. That genius biochemist, she needs to be part of my team."

Fury grins widely, "good to hear, I was hoping you'd say that." And with that last sentence, he leaves.

I am at a loss, really. I need to get back to the Avengers. Fury said they are being handled, but I know better. No one handles Tony Stark. Unless Fury meant Pepper is their new handler, then maybe they are being handled.

I pick up my phone again and tentatively, I open the first voicemail.

" _HEY Coulson! Guess what_?!" I almost shit myself when I recognise the voice. Agent Clint Barton. " _Jesus, you're not gonna believe this! They have us, and I mean all of us living with Tony-Fucking-Stark! And Jesus Christ, Phil, he's got some ugly statue worth a hundred thousand bucks sitting in the foyer-_ " Barton goes silent. There's nothing except for his breathing for a few seconds before the line goes dead.

I open the next voicemail and my heart almost breaks. Agent Barton's voice fills my ear once again, but this time it is more subdued. Controlled. " _Agent Coulson_ ," he begins. " _It's Clint. Hi._ " There's a long pause before he clears his throat and starts again. " _How are you doing? Must be nice where ever you are. No more pressure, no more responsibility, no... more... life..._ " he tapers off and I am overwhelmed with a sudden need to hug him. " _Phil, I'm sorry_." The voicemail ends there.

Not a minute passes before my phone starts ringing. My breath catches and I fight the urge to answer when I see the name: Clint Barton. Fury's words repeat in my head, _he doesn't even know you're alive_.

So I let it go to voicemail.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry that this has taken so damn long. Since my exams have finished for the semester, I've holed myself up catching up on Thor2 and Cap2 and the AOS episodes. I do so apologise that this story has taken a turn into a full fledged AOS story, as it's told from Coulson's POV. Anyway, whatever, y'all don't care so I'll shut up now and post the story.

It takes me two hours to muster up the courage to listen to Clint's voicemail. In those two hours, I mope and make mental lists of the things I want to do now that I'm back. Then I mope some more because in my new found status, I have no agents under my command, which means that I have no active cases and more importantly, I have no friends except for Fury. I wouldn't exactly call Fury my friend either. Until I find out who's at least a Level 8 or has been cleared to know of my survival, I don't really know who I'm allowed contact with so it's not like I could call up anyone on my contact list to have a chat.

In the end, I pick up my phone and connect to the message. Clint's slurred speech fills my ear and I flick my eyes over to the clock. It's barely noon and he's already drunk.

" _Yo boss, it's me. 'ow'ya doin'?_ " I wince at his lack of self control. In my entire time as Barton's handler, I've not seen him truly drunk. I've seen him act the drunkard, and it's always amused me. Even so, a tipsy Hawkeye is still a good shot. " _Been one fucking hell o'va night! You wouldn't believe the stuff Stark's got in his stash. He doesn't drink no'ore, says he's cuttin' back 'nd whatnot. So I say all the mor' fer me._ " It's followed by a few coughs but I'm relieved because it sounds like he's been drinking all night instead of just started this morning. Then, I wonder if he's an active Level 4 Agent for a grand total of two seconds because his next sentence is, " _SHIELD's got me on some sort of complicated leave of absence. As you know, if I ain't cleared by psych, no field work for me! Won't even give me paperwork to do till I sign up to a shrink._ " He really should get his ass to psych. " _No fuckin' way nobody gonna be poking round mah head. No fucking way. Not after Loki, fuck it. Fuck it. I'll hang 'round in Stark's guest wing for the rest of my life if I need'ter._ " There's a very long pause that's filled with heavy breathing and what sounds like it could be swallowing before Clint changes the subject and his voice sounds like he's entirely sober. That's the Hawkeye I know. " _Phil man, I'm so sorry. I keep thinking back to that moment I lost control of myself. I can't even remember it happening. I don't remember, Phil. One minute I have control of myself and the next, all I can see is shooting at SHIELD Agents. I'm so sorry. I know sorry doesn't cut it. Sorry doesn't bring you back. Sorry isn't enough._ "

The line goes dead and I hold my breath in an attempt to control the up-welling of emotions that threaten to crush my chest. Clint sounded defeated, like he's about to give up on himself. When the emotions give way into the burning that begins due to lack of air, I let myself breathe again.  It's lunchtime, I'm alive, Clint doesn't know it, might as well eat. I walk out of my office and discover that true to her word, the British biochemist from earlier is waiting obediently behind the glass door with a sandwich and a drink.

The glass wall dematerializes and I take the food from her and have a bite. Huh, I think as I savor the taste, maybe a higher clearance level gets you better food. I glance around the pit and try not to show my surprise when I see that the entire scene has changed since I last saw it. There are no agents working and there is no longer a cluster of wires and computers. It is a bare hall.

"They were all actors, Agent Coulson," she explains. "Director Fury is waiting for us in the boardroom upstairs." She turns and I follow her down the corridor, hastily consuming my sandwich. When we arrive at the boardroom, Fury is sitting with his back to us, facing the wide windows overlooking the city horizon. When the door closes behind me and the biochemist – I should really learn her name – I get overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of doom and gloom that I usually associate with homesickness. Ridiculous, but understandable as I've come to accept that over the months of putting together the Avengers, I've taken to think of home as wherever they are. Now, I don't even exist in their world. In a last ditch effort to get back to the Avengers despite my status, I demand for the unattainable.

"If you're going to make me build a new team, Fury, I'm going to want some pretty damn amazing people on my list."

Fury turns to face me, "name your price."

I raise an eyebrow and say the first unattainable name that pops into my head, "Melinda May." Two reasons why she's unattainable: the first is that she is a veteran pilot as well as a soldier. If I get her, I'll probably get a very fancy, very expensive new toy that can fly. The second reason why she is unattainable is because she's no longer on active combat duty and she's stuck herself behind admin work. Many team leaders have tried changing her mind and they've all been shot down. I should know as I've tried once to change her mind to get her on the Avengers before I settled for the Black Widow. As I can't have Natasha, I'm gunning for Melinda-The-Cavalry-May because goddamn, she's got more black belts than Nat.

I expect Fury to roll his eyes and tell me to name someone else, but he just purses his lips, "Fine, but you'll be the one to ask her." Fury does a little hand wave in mid air and holographic images appear. I fight to contain my glee when I realize I'm staring at images of a plane. My eyes go wide; this is going to be my plane and I want to kick myself for feeling excited.

I'm vaguely aware that this is Fury bribing me and my sorrows about Clint are pushed to the back of my mind when he introduces me to my new toy. "Agent Coulson, this is the CXD 23 Airborne Mobile Command Station," he flicks through the pictures and I gape in awe. It's got a goddamn mini-bar.

"The six-one-six," I breathe out.

"Indeed," Fury replies, amused. "Congratulations Coulson, you've got a new toy."

I grin ear to ear, "it's no Helicarrier," a lame attempt to upgrade, I know, but you can't blame me for trying.

"Boy, I ain't giving you no motherfucking Helicarrier!" Fury snaps at me. "Fool, you must be crazy if you think you're getting one. This party bus will be sufficient for your new team. Don't blow it up." He chucks over a set of what I assume to be keys to The Bus (because CXD 23 Airborne Mobile Command Station is a heck of a lot to say) to me.

"It's all yours, waiting for you at the hanger."

"What's the catch?" I've known Fury long enough to know.

"Simmons over there," Fury nods to the British biochemist standing quietly behind me. "She's a two for one combo deal. Dr. Jemma Simmons comes with Leopold Fitz. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take them!" I say enthusiastically.

"Great! Well then," Fury stands up and brushes down his coat. "I'll leave you to discuss things. Fitz will be coming in shortly. Play nice, I'll be watching." Fury gives his eye patch a tap and he strides out of the room.

Fitz turns up shortly after and I'm impressed by both his awkwardness and genius. Moreover, I'm even more impressed with the ease and banter between he and Simmons. Fitz is an engineer with a Scottish accent which turns heavy when he's engaged in quick-snap conversation with Simmons. I watch them in awe as the three of us look over profiles of various potential operatives to join my new team. They may be two individuals, but when they come together, they work as one. I've not ever seen such fluidity and ease between two minds in two different bodies coming together to work so smoothly. They finish each other's sentences, they know what the other needs, and they just get the job done. Simmons is no Hulk and Fitz is no Iron Man, but together they are FitzSimmons and that's probably even better than having Banner and Stark because for one thing, they both look at me with adoring eyes. I could do with a biochemist who isn't a risk of turning into a raging green monster and I could do with an engineer who might not be as amazing as Tony Stark, but won't backtalk twice with a dash of witty snark whenever I want something from him. I decide I quite like Fitz; he does this little thing where he purposefully slips into a mocking American accent every time they look over a profile he disapproves. In those moments, he reminds me of Clint.

The phone in my pocket starts vibrating and I'm torn between ignoring it and checking to see the caller. So far, only Clint has called and I can't take his calls. I take it out and to my surprise I discover that the caller is someone who never calls me: John Garrett. We've worked together on multiple missions before, but we aren't close and I always thought him to be Level 7 like I was. I answer the phone in silence, unsure about whether he knows of my survival.

"Coulson," he starts but I do not respond. "Congratulations, heard you're back. Welcome to Level 8."

"Garrett," I finally reply, my suspicions confirmed. He's at least a Level 8, to know about this level of clearance and my living status. When I was a 7, I didn't even know the existence of Levels 8 and 9. I had suspected as Fury is a Level 10 so by logic and reason (by which SHIELD doesn't usually operate by), there should be Levels 8 and 9. Only it seems, those with this clearance are on a strict to-know basis and to the rest of SHIELD, they must pass themselves off as Level 7.

"I know you're putting a new team together so I've got a guy I want to push," Garret continues. "Name's Ward, a Level 7 operative, Grant Douglas Ward. I recruited him years ago." The pride in his voice doesn't go unnoticed. "He's got a bit of a rocky past, stole some cars, set some fires, killed some people, but who hasn't in SHIELD? Har-har-har. He's got some rough edges for you to smooth out; he's a bit gruff, can get too anti-social, but I swear he's good in the field!"

"Thanks man," I say and I flick through the files I have on the desk. Sure enough, Specialist Agent Grand Douglas Ward, Serial Number: A 0829329 is on the shortlist. He's a graduate of SHIELD's Academy of Operations, which makes him a pretty obvious choice considering I don't need another scientist on my team. "I'll consider it, Garrett."

Garrett gives laugh and continues, "He can speak six languages so that'll do you good, too."

"Where is he now?" I ask.

"En route to a mission in Paris. You can extract him if you so wish in a couple of hours, that should give him enough time."

"I'll consider it." I repeat and we hang up. I chuck Ward's file at FitzSimmons and instruct them to debate over him. I take the chance to slip out and find my way to May's office.

She's not exactly buried in paperwork but she's aloof and acts like she doesn't want to see me. I know better, we've been on many missions together, we're tight.

"Congratulations on living, Phil," May says without looking up from her screen. "Before you ask, my answer is no, and I'm busy."

"Come on, Melinda!" I prepare to grovel. "You don't even know what I'm here for."

"Fury filled me in," May says and her fingers fly across her keyboard while her eyes alternate between her screen and the piece of paper on her desk.

"Data entry isn't your forte."

"It is now," May snaps.

"Just say yes, please! Fury's given me this flash plane-"

"It's a six-one-six," May interrupts me without taking her eyes and fingers off her paperwork. "That's a downgrade in your books."

"Well, everything's a downgrade after the Helicarrier," I grumble. "Come on, you miss it, admit it."

"Nope," May stops typing, picks up a stamp and presses it down on the piece of paper before placing it on top of a thick stack to her far right. A bright red "entered" is inked on it now.

"I just need you to drive The Bus."

At hearing this, she finally looks at me. "I cannot believe you're calling the Globemaster a bus. It's a plane."

I grin and chuck her the keys. "It's all yours to pilot! Come on, we're in the boardroom upstairs. FitzSimmons are debating over Agent Ward joining the team."

"I just need to drive it." May repeats and I give a slight nod but we both know that's not what reality will be. "Agent Ward is in Paris. Plane's up in thirty."

As I walk back to FitzSimmons to summon them to The Bus, Clint calls again. That's twice in a day now, and I listen to the recording after I let it go to voicemail.

It's simple and short and it aches my heart, " _Hey boss, it's me. I'm going to see a shrink._ "

 

* * *

 

 

Later when we're halfway across the Atlantic, I get another message from Clint.

" _Jesus Christ, it's like 3am or something and I can't fucking sleep. I keep thinking about you and I keep thinking about the meeting of doom with the shrink tomorrow. I don't know if I can do it. It's a SHIELD assigned one. Stark said he knows a few good people he can recommend, but fuck that, he also knew Obie and look how great that turned out for him._ " Clint snorts. " _Banner's given me pills. I don't really want to take them because once I start… I don't want to turn out like an addict. My shot is all I have left._ "


	4. Chapter 4

I push Clint to the back of my mind. There's nothing I can do to help him really. For one thing, I'm halfway across the Atlantic, that and Clint thinks I'm dead. Then I wonder briefly whether he was present at my funeral. Did Agent Coulson have a funeral? How morbid.

We arrive in Paris before Agent Ward has completed his mission. I fight the urge to extract him immediately. It is important he completes his last mission successfully before joining Avengers 2.0 – what I've secretly but fondly come to call my little gathering. If Agent May knew that's what I'm calling this, I would most likely get a whooping on the practice mat tomorrow morning and every morning practice after that.

We gather in a small conference room and settle for listening in on Ward's communications with his team. It isn't long before an agent suggests Ward to abort the mission due to a breach in security. I frown. Information containing coordinates specific to sensitive missions leaked onto the Internet? What a nuisance. I smile when I hear Ward's reluctance to abort. He's got this. I glance over at May and am greeted with a familiar sight – a look of total boredom graces her features while she flips through Ward's thick personal file like she's flicking through this month's Vogue.

"What's the diagnosis?" I ask teasingly. May ignores me for a minute before making eye contact with a raised eyebrow.

"Talented in his field," she finally relents. "But rough around the edges. Tight. His reports read like an anti-social man so I won't be surprised if his interpersonal skills suck. He's probably a douche." We both shrug at that. Most SHIELD agents won't have any friends if not for their one thing in common: being secret agents. There's neither time nor room for us to practice making friends with anyone outside the agency. That almost always ends in disaster. She flips to Ward's latest assessment as done by Agent Maria Hill. "She's given him the highest marks since Romanov. But," and May pauses here to hold back a laugh. "She drew a poop under people skills!" May squints closer at the picture. "I think it's got knives sticking out of it."

"Perfect," Simmons beams. "Sounds like we will get along swimmingly!" Both May and I turn to stare. Her tone is light and carefree but she's got to work on her poker face. She looks like she's about to drown in anxiety. The nerds of the team probably have the highest ability to make friends.

Through the hacked CCTV network, we watch Ward's progress. He slips easily from the bike into his role as a waiter. That's a bold move considering he's in a foreign country. Perhaps French is one of the six languages he knows. That would be useful. My thoughts are confirmed when Ward approaches his mark and asks in French, "May I take your glass, Sir?"

"Excellent," I say. "Won't always be me going into missions requiring French."

"Gee, thanks," May drawls. "Just conveniently forget I also speak French."

"I also speak good French," Simmons mumbles. 

Ward continues his mission and we get snippets of his movements before he disappears into an apartment blocked from public view. Before we know it, a scuffle breaks out and I feel a sense of déjà vu. On Hawkeye's first solo mission as Hawkeye under my supervision, I was wrought with anxiety due to an altercation that I could hear but not see. Barton barely broke a sweat and he was the one who started it. In his report, he blamed his impatience and an overwhelming desire to _move the show along_. I had to sit him down and have a lengthy discussion on what should or should not go in a report. He responded with, "Sir, I thought you would appreciate the honesty, Sir!"

Ward wins the scuffle and is picked up from the roof and transported to the office. He is taken in by Maria Hill who grills him. For the first time in a very long time, I am excited. I love watching Ms. Maria Hill work. She is elegant and succinct. She is a lady of integrity and has my utmost respect. But actually, it's mostly because I enjoy watching her sarcasm at work. I take my place in a blind spot to watch her debriefing of Ward.

"What does SHIELD stand for, Agent Ward?" She actually sounds bored.

Ward answers with the same bored tone, "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"And what does that mean to you?" Hill asks. I shuffle closer to get a clearer view. I'm always interested in such answers. Sometimes you can tell an Agent has thought seriously about this and other times you can tell they have never once considered this. The first time Barton was asked this question, he stared blankly back. When prompted the second time, he told us that quite frankly, he did not understand. I later discovered that was not the case and Barton is just one lazy bastard.  
Ward swallows before he answers Hill, "it means someone really wanted our initials to spell out "shield"".

I really want to let out a gleeful guffaw and at this moment, I decide I like Ward's wit and I make a signal that I've decided on taking him on just in time for Hill to have an answer to Ward's question about why he was pulled out of Paris. As to be expected of a Level 6 agent, Ward has been told of my demise and I choose this very moment to make my grand appearance out of the dark corner I had inserted myself in to, "Welcome to Level 7." I smile widely. I've always had a love for the theatrics.   
We are on a tight schedule and so we board immediately to return home. Ward is given a quick recap from my side of the story but he's a bit slow on the uptake. We are on home base when he asks, "Director Fury faked your death, to motivate the Avengers?" 

It appears Fury thought the death of a common ally is an effective team builder. This I do not disagree with and I get another chance to remind everyone of my close shave to death. Ward doesn't let it go though and pushes at the Avengers. Hill shuts him down quick with a widely accepted and unquestionable answer, "The Avengers are not Level 7."

At the end of the day, when I finally get the chance to return to my home for the day, I'm exhausted. I don't often sleep here and I'm not sure why I still own it, considering I've just spent months relaxing in Tahiti and I'm about to move onto The Bus. I guess, it's nice to have a place to call my own. I don't bother with the lights as I step into the bedroom. I head straight to my bed and fall on it. I barely touch the covers when I am welcomed by a voice from the corner of my room. I squeal in surprise and jump out of bed, whirling around to see who has the audacity to be a creep.

A hooded figure steps forward and I fall into a combat stance.

"Please," he scoffs, "I'm not here to fight you. You'll probably lose."

I squint at him, "Tony?" I question. It is undoubtedly Tony Stark.

"No!" he snaps in annoyance. It's definitely him. "Got an update on Clint. He's a fucking mess, you know, why the fuck are we being kept in the dark? It's not fair, you get to play house with your new toys and we get to wallow in guilt?"

He makes a good point but I give the same lame answer everyone gets, "The Avengers aren't Level 7. How did you know anyway? You are most certainly NOT Level 7."

"Oh please," I cannot see it, but if I know Tony Stark as well as I do (and I know him well after stalking him for months for recruitment), he rolls his eyes. "Like I need clearance to get past your security systems. I practically gave birth to it." A moment of silence passes before Stark speaks again. "You really should consider it you know. Tell us that you're alive."

"Stark," I start but he shushes me.

"I prefer to be called… the Master of Darkness. Or the Sleuth Lord. No, that's terrible…"

"Stark!" I snap and he shuts his mouth. "Clint sounds like he's getting the help he needs. He told me you've hooked him up with a psychiatrist."

"He told you or he told your answering machine?" Stark asks. His voice is cold and unforgiving. "Not knowing is killing him. But I won't tell him you're alive because at this moment in time, knowing the truth would rip him apart." With the last word, Stark leaves.

The next few days are filled with excitement. The Rising Tide Mission is Ward's first mission with my Avengers 2.0. They are also filled with worry. Clint calls me every day, sometimes twice a day.

_Coulson, I'm so tired.  
Coulson, everything is so slow.  
Coulson, I'm so sorry.  
Have you ever wondered why agents need to be mentally cleared for duty when the best agents are probably true psychopaths and sociopaths?  
Coulson, did you know they took away my hand guns? All of them? I mean, it's probably a good thing considering the last time I picked a knife, I wanted to stab myself. It's okay though, Jarvis has me on suicide watch.  
Coulson, Stark's home is a maze.  
Coulson, I'm exhausted. I want to see you.  
Coulson… Coulson, I'm coming to see you soon._


End file.
